


Christening

by ItsClydeBitches



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Canon Related, Character Study, Family, Friendship/Love, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsClydeBitches/pseuds/ItsClydeBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first time Dean calls him "Cas" and Castiel isn't pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christening

There's a seal located in the cozy town of Launer, Kansas, just a little over seven miles to the west of their motel room. Castiel can feel it, pulsing against his grace in a manner not entirely dissimilar from breathing. The energy it leaves behind – soft, soothing – clings like wet cotton.

Not that he knows what that feels like.

Although his vessel might.

"Want some?"

All at once there's something dark and large under his nose. Castiel rears back, only to find that it's Dean, standing before him with a box clutched in both hands.

It is disturbing, really. Even the Righteous Man should not be able to sneak up on him so easily. And yet, Castiel is finding that there is little about Dean Winchester that coincides with his expectations.

Uriel, stationed at the window, scowls. His own vessel's face collapses with disdain.

Dean is waiting.

"No," Castiel replies.

"Aww common!" Dean shakes the box, bouncing it from side to side. In large, bloated letters Castiel reads: COCOA PUFFS.

"You'll be coo-coo for 'em! Scout's honor."

"No."

"Pfft. Party pooper."

"Dean, the seal-"

"Is gonna have to wait until Sammy gets back anyway, right? So, come on. Just try it!" Dean's hand dives back into the box, producing tiny, round balls that he begins eating with relish.

"I am not surprised," Uriel snaps, "that you enjoy a food so reminiscent of an animal's feces."

"Uh huh. Love you too, sweetheart. But let's not get frisky while the Misses is out. Oooooh. But that's just it, isn't it?" Dean smirks, inhaling another handful of the brown… things. Uriel grimaces. "You're feeling all pissy because the humans know things you don't, huh? What's a' matter? Upset that our libraries are cooler than yours? Mm… Don't tell Sammy I said that."

"I am upset that I must wait for that abomination in your presence!"

"Hey!" Dean points a stern finger in the angel's direction. "Sasquatch is my abomination. I call dibs on the insults."

Uriel growls, turning from them completely.

"Dean, the text we seek has always been in human hands. It was meant to reside in a mortal library. I do not understand why you…" he stops, realizing that his words are not being heard.

Despite his best efforts, Castiel finds himself at a loss. His charge stands there, gorging himself and making faces at Uriel's back. His outward appearance is carefree and yet his soul, intertwined with bits of Castiel's grace, flares with anger.

"Whatever, Cas. Not our fault Chuckles over there missed nap time."

Uriel's entire back tenses, the lines of his suit creasing along his spine. Dean immediately notes the new tension and thus fails to catch how Castiel also stills, hands flexing.

"Is that it then?" Dean asks. "You wanna curl up with your baby blanket, hot shot?"

"Dean-"

"They sell teddies at the convenience store down the street, if it'll make you feel better. What do you think Ca—"

It happens so quickly not even a hunter's reflexes could keep up. What little restraint Uriel had regarding Dean's antics vanishes and in a breath he's at his side, plastering him against the wall.

"How dare you?"

Uriel hauls Dean's arm up and behind his back. The box of cereal goes flying, landing at Castiel's feet who watches the food scatter, rigidly.

With a curse Dean is slammed further against the wall, desperately trying to make use of the leverage to throw Uriel back. The angel only digs in harder, nearly piercing Dean's skin with his fingers. He slams one hand against the human's head and Dean howls.

"GET OFF ME!"

"Do you dare?" Uriel hisses, pulling at the ligaments in Dean's wrist. His lips are pressed right against his ear and Dean can feel the waves of power, ringing against his skull. "You repulsive worm. Are you truly so arrogant as to claim that type of power? Do you believe you have that right?"

"Listen asshat I don't know what cup of crazy you've been drinking from but you'd best get the fuck off me before I-"

"Enough."

Castiel speaks the word softly but it's laced with enough grace to catch both their attentions. Two sets of eyes swing his way.

"Uriel," he commands, "release him."

"Castiel-"

"Now."

He does so, pulling back as if all at once Dean is too disgusting to look upon, let alone touch. In return Dean rolls his shoulders and spits.

"You've got to keep a shorter leash on him, Cas!"

The effect is immediate. Uriel's hunches, looking for all the world like he intends to tear Dean limb from limb. Castiel's reaction is less violent... and far, far scarier. One minute he's across the room, the next he's an inch from Dean's face, backing him up against the wall he was just released from. Dean tells himself that it's just the impact of his back making contact that drives the breath from his lungs, but in reality its Castiel's eyes. They've hardened, filled with so much righteous fury that the vessel's pupils can barely contain it. Briefly, flickeringly, Dean recalls something similar down in the pit – a being so powerful that hordes of demons were obliterated from its gaze alone. Those eyes are a painful reminder that he's not dealing with some lamo civilian or even a holy tax accountant— this is an angel of the Lord. A warrior of God that Dean has just pissed the fuck off.

And he has no idea how.

"I thought I had made myself clear." Castiel's voice is filled with everything sharp: rocks, broken glass, and the edge of a sword. "You should show me some respect."

"Hey man, I do!"

"You do not."

"Aw come on, Cas—"

"Enough!" One hand slams against the wall, directly beside Dean's head. For a moment the whole building trembles and plaster rains down on them both. Dean definitely doesn't squeak.

"Do you mock me?" Castiel hisses.

"What? No!"

"Do not think, Dean Winchester, that just because you are an asset in this war that I will hesitate to return you to the pit once you have ceased to be useful!"

It's the most he's ever heard Castiel say in one breath and that, more than anything, is freaking him out. Dean shakes his head wildly, trying to placate the solid mass that's breathing holy fire down his neck. Castiel looks like he's one step away from following up on his threat— usefulness or no.

"Dude, listen to me. Just calm the fuck down. I'm sorry if I pissed off your fluffy angel feelings but it would be real helpful if you'd just tell me what it is I did."

"You…?"

"Lies!"

It's Uriel who speaks because Castiel… Castiel is now staring at him with just a little less fury. He tips his head and narrows his eyes, as if squinting at Dean is going to make a difference. Hell, maybe for him it does. Castiel has done almost nothing but stare at him since they've met but only once before has Dean seen that particular combination of confusion and horror: when they'd stood together in the barn. When Castiel tugged at something now intertwined with Dean's soul and whispered, 'you don't think you deserve to be saved.' Dean half expects him to say it again but instead what comes out is,

"You don't understand."

Castiel leans closer. Nods.

"You don't understand," he repeats with more confidence, and finally steps back. "Uriel, we have judged him too harshly. And done him a great disservice."

"What?" he yells.

Dean pushes off the wall, pleased as all fuck when his knees don't buckle.

"Not that I want to agree with anything this douche has to say… but yeah. What?"

"It seems we have encountered a… cultural difference."

"Wanna explain that, Clarence?"

Uriel spits something not in English – not in any language Dean has ever heard – but he's used enough of them to recognize a curse.

Castiel just closes his eyes a moment too long, breathing deeply.

"You must stop naming me," he says.

"Naming you?"

"Yes."

"Like… naming. You," both angles glare, sucking all the warmth out of the room. Dean knows he can be a little slow on the uptake but something just isn't computing here. "You're not making much sense, Cas."

"That." Castiel's hand shoots out, as if he'd pluck Dean's words right from the air. "I am not 'Cas.' Nor am I 'Clarence.' I am Castiel. It was the Name given to me by my Father upon my creation. He Named me as he Names all his children: with great purpose and reverence. It is not something you can take away. It is not something you can give. Do you think yourself God, Dean Winchester?" Castiel levels him with a stare that makes the hunter squirm. "You do not have the wisdom to Name a blade of grass, let alone an angel of the Lord. So stop."

Silence.

-IT'S THE EYE OF THE TIGER, IT'S THE THRILL OF THE FIGHT-

"SHIT!"

RISIN' UP TO THE CHALLENGE OF OUR-

Dean's whole body jerks as he backbends for the phone in his pocket. He deliberately ignores the two angles, still looking like they want to draw and quarter him.

"Heeey, Sammy," he smiles, forcing his body to relax. "What?... Nah, all's quiet on the western front. Playing the name game here with our favorite angels."

Confused murmurs emanate from Dean's phone but Sam's voice, wonderfully familiar, helps to set Dean back on his feet. The earlier fear of a smiting starts to fade and instead Dean settles himself for something he's far more comfortable with: confrontation. He meets the angels' glares. He doesn't flinch.

"You got it? Great. Yep. Sounds good, I— … No I don't. Fuck you."

More from the other end, but shouting this time. Dean rolls his eyes, casually fiddles with the knife in his belt.

"Yeah, yeah, OKAY! Jeez. Uh huh. Uuuuuuh huh. See you soon, then. Bitch."

He flips the phone shut, tossing it into the air.

"That was Sam," Dean says, speaking slowly. He meets each angel's gaze in turn. "He's found the book, so I'm gonna meet up with him and save another one of your damn seals. You're going to stay here and try not to be dicks for a while. It'll be hard, I know."

Striding forward he snatches the cereal box off the ground. Part of it had been crushed in their little tussle but Dean shakes it, smirking at the sound of unbroken pieces inside. He grabs a handful and, getting right up in his space, stuffs it under Castiel's nose.

"Sure you don't want any?"

Castiel glowers.

"Fine, fine." Dean tosses them into his mouth, chewing loudly just for Uriel, but his eyes remain on Castiel's. "In that case, you are going to spend your time contemplating what it means to relax. Seriously, man." He raises his hands, shaking them and crying in a falsetto voice, "Oh look! I'm Castiel! My Father named me! Aren't I special? Get the fuck over yourself. Most of us got ours from Bouncy Baby . So no, I'm not going to stop naming you. I'll call you Cas or Cassie or Pretty, Pretty Pony if I damn well please. You-" he pokes the angel in the chest, "have got to stop listening to him." he gestures toward Uriel. "He's a bad influence, Cas."

Castiel flinches and catching it, Dean leans in closer.

"Don't like it? Like I said, get over it. Hell, you not liking it might even be better. You assholes piss me the fuck off and I bet you could do with someone ruffling your feathers a bit. Might help to get that stick outta your ass." Dean smiles winningly. "And I'm always willing to help with that."

Grabbing his jacket off a nearby chair he salutes them both.

"See ya!" and slams the door behind him.

For a moment, neither angel speaks.

"… I will enjoy carving out his tongue," and with that Uriel too is gone.

Castiel finds himself alone.

'He's right, you know.'

The voice is so unexpected, so clear, that for one shameful moment Castiel summons his sword, searching the room for an intruder. It's only when his grace ripples with another's amusement that he recognizes the soul of his vessel.

'You are meant to be asleep,' he tells it, frowning. He had submerged this soul quite deep, just a few days before.

'And angels are supposed to be smart,' comes the quick reply. 'Seriously? This is what I gave up free will for?' An emotion, something Castiel can't yet identity, shudders through their shared consciousness. Whatever it is makes the body he's wearing heat and sweat. 'Castiel, Dean was just trying to be friendly.'

'Showing me such disrespect is hardly what I would term frie-'

'It's a nickname.'

Something about the way the vessel says it – thinks it – makes Castiel pause.

'It's… something you do when you get close,' the vessel continues. 'It's not a, - a true name, if that's what you're thinking. He's not trying to take away the name God gave you. He's just giving you another. One that's all his own, and you threw that back in his face.'

'He doesn't have that right.'

'Oh come off your high horse, Cas. It's a gift—'

And all at once there's a memory flooding through them both, skimming the line between angel and vessel. It's faint, but gains clarity as it pushes forward. There's a-

Small, dark haired boy, sitting on the island of a kitchen. He shifts powdered sugar into a bowl while a plump woman stirs and says, 'there you go, James' and-

he's taller now, standing before a teacher. He's told to, 'take a seat, James. We have much to discuss regarding—'

how beautiful she is. She's young and curvy with just the right amount of makeup. Laughing, she pokes him in the chest. 'You're too cute to be a 'James,' she says. 'You're more of a Jimmy.'

'Amelia—'

'Trust me. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy,-'

"Stop!" The vessel rocks forward as Castiel throws them back into the present. He can feel the soul's confusion, his questions, but before he can articulate them Castiel is silencing him with his grace. He pulls it inward, ruthlessly forcing the soul back down into the darkest parts of the vessel. It is bad enough that he must deal with this body's instincts, he will not listen to chatter too. There's only the briefest of struggles before the soul is overpowered and finally, mercilessly, sleeps.

"Enough," he says.

There's silence in the empty room. Castiel is once again alone.

It takes him a long time to recover himself, far longer than he would prefer. By the time Castiel feels comfortable leaving the motel Sam and Dean have already translated the more relevant passages in the book. Without him they travel to a comfortable home seven miles to the west, where Maya Wilkers plays with her baby girl. They charm their way in, claiming to be old friends of her husband's, and she happily supplies them with tea and chocolates. While Dean gorges himself on more dark foods Sam coos at the little girl, eventually gaining permission to hold her. And if, while bouncing her around the den, he whispers long strings of Enochian into her ear… well, her mother need never know. The wards Sam weaves into her body will act as shields, working to protect both a seal and the soul it is intertwined with.

Castiel will arrive and watch all this from outside the window. He means to go in, to help… but does not.

That's in the future though. For now, Castiel stands in a crummy motel room, praying and thinking about many things. Instincts. Nicknames. Dean. He spends long minutes in a one-sided conversation with his Father and, at this point in time, it's still soothing.

It's only as he's leaving – as Dean and Sam are heading towards Maya's – that Castiel puts his hand into his pocket. There's no reason to do this and up until now he's never done it before. He chalks it up to another bit of muscle memory, brought on by his vessel's sudden attempts to resurface.

Regardless of why, his hand does stray, and as it wanders it encounters a mound of small objects. Hesitantly taking one out, Castiel finds a tiny, brown ball… one of the 'Cocoa Puffs.' Dean must have slipped them into his coat. Not doubt to antagonize him. Or perhaps it had even been accidental. Surely he hadn't meant anything significant by the action…

Even so, Castiel has never been given a gift before. Other than the life and grace his Father bestowed upon him and that felt very... different.

Later, Castiel will stand outside Maya's window, acknowledging that he is still angry. He won't help the Winchesters, even when Sam stumbles over the Enochian and Dean is left entertaining a child, giving his brother time to sneak peeks at the book. The result is a tear in his shirt and grape juice down the front of his pants.

Castiel doesn't come in to fix Dean's clothes. He doesn't help Sam start up the spell again. When they leave, smiling over a job well done, Castiel doesn't ask to go with them. In fact, he won't see either of them for weeks to come. Or rather, they won't see him.

Castiel does, however, take one of the tiny cereals and pops it into his mouth. Standing, watching the brothers, he decides just this once to try something human. It's dry. Crunchy. Castiel eats the rest mechanically.

But with each crunch he hears a voice, similar in resonance to one he's beginning to associate with free will. His mind echoes with Dean Winchester saying, "Cas."

The fact that his anger begins to fade feels blasphemous, and it is a moment he keeps to himself.

***

Years later Cas is a wave of celestial intent, high above the Earth, when Dean's panicked cry echoes through his consciousness. In an instant he's re-obtained his vessel and has flown to the hunter's side, smiting the werewolf that would have torn out his throat. Sam, at the far side of the warehouse, shakily lowers the gun that he hadn't been quick enough in using.

"Holy…" Dean's voice cracks, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Literally," Sam says. He slumps against the wall, grimacing at his left leg. He gives Cas a nod.

"Thanks, man."

"You are welcome."

It takes some time but the three of them eventually make their way back to the car. Slightly behind the brothers, Cas notes that Dean has a tear in his jacket, no doubt where the werewolf's claws caught hold. Without any conscious thought he fixes it, just the light brush of a hand. Dean doesn't notice, busy as he is lowering Sam into the backseat.

"That ankle's gonna need some serious TLC, Sammy."

"How far are we from Bobby's?"

"Five hours? Six tops. Don't worry, princess, we'll get you a beautiful cast. You'll be the Belle of the ball."

Sam is too wiped to retort. He simply groans, collapsing into the Impala.

"Cas?"

Dean is bruised but alive, smiling at the equal lack of threatening injuries his brother has sustained. They're standing by the one home he's always known, ready to hit the road for the second. He touches the shoulder of an angel of the Lord and the name, when it leaves Dean's lips, sounds like everything right.

Cas's response is instinctual.

"Yes, Dean?"

"You coming?"

"Of course."


End file.
